Brand New Days
by Gold
Summary: Silver Pair. Once upon a time, Ohtori stopped talking to Shishido, which was really bizarre. The silence between the two extended for a lengthy four years and a number of months... and this is where we step in, to find out what happened next...
1. Chapter 1

**© Gold 2009**

**Disclaimer:**_Prince of Tennis _is created by Konomi Takeshi. This work is a piece of fanfiction and no part of it is attributed to Konomi-san or any other entity holding any legal right associated with and arising out of _Prince of Tennis_. It was written purely out of fanservice and it is **not** to be used for profit or any false association with Konomi-san or aforesaid entities.

**Title**: Brand New Days

**Series**: Meant to be a side-fic to Safe Harbour but morphed into its own story. Read as a stand-alone.

**Pairing:** Shiny and silver. For the uninitiated, that means Ohtori-Shishido.

**Rating:** K+ for gay pairing. Safe. I cannot bring myself to write purple prose.

**Author's Rambling: **

The problem with writing a Silver Pair story is that it is _incredibly_ difficult to break new ground. There are certain incontrovertible facts that form the foundation on which a Silver Pair love story has to be built, unless one chooses to write the story in an alternate universe or an alternate reality. These facts have been documented over and over again, _ad infinitum_, _ad nauseum_, in fandom. Regardless, at the end of the day, I hope that I've managed to write something that you can enjoy, for the sheer pleasure of reading about the Silver Pair. – And if you didn't really enjoy it, please accept my apologies and we'll all move on. =p

**Summary:**

Uh... once upon a time, Ohtori stopped talking to Shishido. We go forth some four years and random months later, to see what's happened.

**Warnings:**

1. Suspension of disbelief is required. This is, after all, Prince of Tennis.

2. Some creative licence has been taken here, regarding the past history of the Hyoutei regulars. I'm piecing it together as I go along and we'll all ignore the new anime episodes because I've only watched up to episode 2...

3. I kind of cling on to the hope, the end of the _manga_ notwithstanding, that the boys won't up and leave to go become tennis superstars until nearing the end of high school. I think—I really do believe—that _kizuna_ and destiny might keep them where I want them to be, until their wings are strong enough for them to fly high and sky high...

**Guest stars**: Hyoutei

**Rolling credits** **(i.e. name-dropped)**: Too many to name.

* * *

_Notes: __I visited Tokyo very briefly last May (to watch the latest Musical Prince of Tennis). Some of my impressions of Tokyo have been recorded here._

**Part 1 – After Many Days**

It is May. The skies are a brilliant blue, softened by stray wisps of clouds drifting by casually. The wind carries leaf scents and whiffs of tree bark blended with the mixed perfumes of late spring blossoms and early summer blooms. High up on a skyscraper, an electronic signboard proclaims the temperature of the day: 27 degrees Celsius. The sun is bright and warm, but not intolerably so, because the wind still carries with it the faint chill of spring, taking the edge off the heat.

Shishido Ryou absolutely loves it when the weather is as beautiful as this, although it generally happens only after a(nother!) tropical storm or typhoon has whirled through the Sea of Japan. It is perfect weather, after all, for playing tennis.

A schoolbus draws up along the sidewalk opposite Shishido, spilling a group of very small and very noisy primary schoolboys on to the sidewalk. They are all decked out in identical sports jerseys and trousers, with baseball mitts in hand and caps perched jauntily atop their heads. Their coach, a middle-aged man with a heavily-lined face, beams at them and blows his whistle, sounding three little toots that linger in the cool air. The children scramble to obey the signal, falling neatly into two lines. Then, on the count of three from the foremost boy, they march onwards.

…it seems that the weather is also excellent for baseball.

Shishido's gaze is regretful as it follows the baseball team of very small boys until they are out of sight. They bring to mind a time once, many years ago, when he had as little care in the world as those schoolboys. He misses those days more badly than he will ever let on. These days, his world has shrunk to the size of a cramped office cubicle, and too many people around him have forgotten what it feels like to breathe in the freedom of the open air.

Where Shishido works now, in the city, the older buildings loom ponderously upwards from the streets, their dated exteriors comparing unhappily with the sleek, futuristic designs of their newer cousins. The sidewalks are endless, paved over in muted gray, each cemented flagstone so perfectly fitted with the next one that not even a weed can find a crack to squeeze between. Flower boxes and plant pots are laid out in neat rows, demarcating one building complex from the next. They are symmetrically arranged, their contents neatly pruned, and each plant has been discreetly labelled with a little tag and number. The sun is a pale form of its true self in the city, hindered every which way by the shadows of the buildings, and the breezes that carry the snatches of ocean winds inland die a natural death when they collide into the tall skyscrapers.

In the city, there is no laughter of small children or teenagers as they race to the tennis courts, or to the nearest baseball diamond or sports field. Everyone is an adult. They walk quickly, in short little steps, their faces expressionless as they pass one another. Their suits are sombre, with overcoats or cardigans and sweaters in neutral shades of black, camel, fawn or cream. Some of the younger women add a daring splash of colour with brightly-hued or gaily-patterned blouses or skirts.

In the city, there are rules to follow – a rule for everything, written or unwritten, spoken or unspoken, that dictates a person's every movement.

Shishido dislikes the rules that come with being an adult. Everything is regular, angular and just so exact that he sometimes feels a little cramped. Invisible lines are everywhere: guiding him and boxing him within, in the name of harmony and perfection. Woe betide him if he puts a single toe out of line. Shishido is very grateful that his new job requires him to travel to other countries frequently and thus frees him a little – although there are things that dismay him about some of the places that he has to go to. (Trains in other countries, for example, _never_ seem to arrive or leave on time, and some of the bus transportation systems he has encountered whilst abroad appear to run on a game of chance).

The wind comes by, playfully running through Shishido's short hair. Shishido takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with good, suburban, non-city air.

In the distance, he can see a tall, nay, a _very_ tall figure loping into sight, the tails of his snow-white jacket flapping lazily behind in the breeze.

The look in Shishido's eyes grows sharp and contemplative as he watches the newcomer approach hesitantly.

He used to know Ohtori Choutarou really, _really_ well.

They'd been schoolboys together, once upon a time in Tokyo's posh Hyoutei Gakuen. Shishido was one year ahead of Ohtori and there was almost nothing they had in common. Had they been classmates, there was very little likelihood that they would have bothered to get acquainted. If not for tennis, their paths would never have crossed. As it was, though, both played tennis extraordinarily well – far superior to the vast majority of the other thousand-odd boys in their school – and their paths thus converged inexorably in Hyoutei.

Shishido Ryou was a well-known personality in Hyoutei. He had come up from the affiliated primary school, like nearly two-thirds of the school population. As a freshman in junior high, he managed to survive the gruelling selection rounds for entry into the exclusive and incredibly prestigious Hyoutei boys' tennis club. Shishido proved to be one of the most talented tennis players of his batch, making the pre-regulars by the beginning of his second year, even though he wasn't all that physically imposing. It also didn't hurt that he had dashing good looks, which made him wildly popular with the Hyoutei girls. He had surprisingly fine features and wore his hair long, tied back neatly in a simple style that suited him down to the ground.

Shishido's high visibility in Hyoutei Gakuen also came about in part because, whether he liked it or not, he came to the attention of the most powerful person in all of Hyoutei, one Atobe Keigo.

Atobe Keigo was a schoolboy in the same year as Shishido, and had the privilege of being the scion of _the_ Atobe family. He was also Hyoutei's finest tennis player, and easily ranked within the top five tennis players for his age group (as well as the two age groups above) nationwide. Within Hyoutei itself, not more than a few players could make a game interesting enough for Atobe. One of them, interestingly enough, was Shishido Ryou. (Another was Oshitari Yuushi, who was the only freshman remotely able to take half the games off Atobe in any one set, but that is another story). Shishido thought differently: just because he had somehow become fair target practice for Atobe did not automatically mean that they were best friends. (Besides, Atobe clocked more hours playing against Oshitari). Atobe's interests were all high-brow and totally alien to Shishido, who was happy to count himself as a plebeian. Shishido felt that it was very unfair to label him as a close friend of Atobe Keigo's; he did his best to tear off the label and stick it to Oshitari Yuushi.

But it was Atobe Keigo who stepped in when some jealous tennis club seniors schemed to boot Shishido out of the club through insults and sly physical assaults. Shishido would have answered them with his fists, and it would have cost him his place in the club. If it had been anyone else, Atobe would have left them to it – but Shishido's value to the tennis club could not be ignored. Atobe refused to sacrifice future tennis glory just because of a few short-sighted seniors. So he saw to it, instead, that Shishido took on the errant seniors in tennis matches before the entire tennis club – and defeated them.

Thereafter, nobody touched Shishido Ryou.

When Shishido was in his second year in Hyoutei, three outstanding first-year aspirants to the tennis club made their mark in the spring tryouts. One was Ohtori Choutarou; the other two were Hiyoshi Wakashi and Kabaji Munehiro.

Kabaji doubled as Atobe's personal _aide-de-camp_, an office in which he served with great distinction. He was also the most silent person in the entire club. Whilst it was true that Hiyoshi and Ohtori proved to be preternaturally quiet folks who hardly spoke unless spoken to, Kabaji took that one step further: he kept his answers limited to a single word ("_Usu_").

Hiyoshi, who had an intense stare and a very firm set to his mouth, distinguished himself within his first week in the tennis club by his somewhat manic devotion to the perfection of his game. It was no secret that he intended to earn his way through sheer blood, sweat and grit, to the top of the Hyoutei pantheon of tennis gods.

As for Ohtori, he stood head and shoulders above almost everyone in Hyoutei. He was quiet and tactful, overpoweringly tall but delightfully unassuming, and he loved music (he was one of Sakaki Tarou's star music pupils in that respect). Everyone liked him. Hyoutei's basketball club was absolutely _desperate_ to recruit him – but Ohtori wanted to play tennis, and Atobe ruled the school.

There was no indication then that he and Shishido would become more than just team-mates.

When Shishido Ryou lost to Tachibana Kippei in the prefectural tournament the following year, many people in Hyoutei thought that that was the end. There were many who celebrated partly because they hoped to take Shishido's place – and largely because Shishido had rubbed too many people the wrong way. In a school such as Hyoutei, where courtesy was the order of the day, however false and forced, and subtlety was prized, Shishido's straight-talking ways and blunt disregard for the feelings of his fellow students gave him a reputation for arrogance. It was not altogether undeserved; he was, after all, a Hyoutei boy.

Contrary to expectations from the hoi-polloi, Sakaki-_kantoku_ did not choose a new regular to replace Shishido. There was some grumbling in the rank-and-file, but nobody dared to complain. Furthermore, Atobe Keigo apparently saw nothing wrong with the coach's decision.

Just two weeks after being written off for dead by Hyoutei's entire tennis club, Shishido Ryou thrashed Taki Haginosuke in a dramatic match during club practice. The time-honoured tradition of the Hyoutei Gakuen tennis club demanded that Shishido replace Taki on the regular line-up. Strangely enough, Sakaki-_kantoku_ broke with custom once more and flatly refused to reinstate Shishido.

What happened next kept Hyoutei Gakuen abuzz and agog with amazement and disbelief. Eventually it morphed into an enduring urban legend of Hyoutei Gakuen, with varying accounts. No official version was ever released, which only served to enshrine this urban legend in the annals of Hyoutei's tennis history.

That day, Shishido Ryou swallowed his pride and went down on his knees before his formidable coach to beg for a place on the team. And then, to everyone's horror, he produced a pair of scissors out of thin air, and began methodically snipping away at his long hair.

For the members of the Hyoutei Gakuen boys' tennis club who were watching with bated breath from the bleachers in the distance as they tried to decipher what was happening, it was a decidedly surreal experience.

All told, it was a horribly awkward situation. –And Ohtori Choutarou, all unasked, then added his own bit to the drama by offering up his position on the team.

It was at this juncture that Atobe Keigo took matters firmly in hand and moved forward, placing himself physically between the coach, and Shishido and Ohtori. He faced the coach and what he said that day, in the distance, nobody in the bleachers could hear. But everyone saw the coach incline his head briefly.

It was more than enough.

And Shishido Ryou joined the regulars' line-up during club practice the following day.

For Shishido, his return to the regular line-up did not mean that he could continue playing singles, as had been his place previously. Atobe made this very clear. Shishido had a specific role to play in Atobe's game plan for Hyoutei's path to the Nationals title. As Shishido eventually learned, one of the many reasons why Sakaki-_kantoku_ had not immediately sought for a replacement in the wake of Shishido's dismissal was because he was searching for a competent doubles pair, something which the Hyoutei tennis club lacked severely. The coach's dilemma was not surprising, since forming a competent doubles pair required people who were willing to accommodate each other, and Hyoutei's tennis club was stuffed with too many selfish egos for that.

At that time, Hyoutei already had a magnificent first-choice doubles combination in Oshitari Yuushi and Mukahi Gakuto, who had complementary playing styles and, miraculously, liked each other sufficiently to co-operate. However, each school was required to send in _two_ doubles teams for each match-up and it was strategically stupid to rely on the only doubles pair that was up to the mark. Other doubles combinations that the coach had experimented with had not fared adequately against both internal and external competition. In the grand scheme of things, therefore, a doubles pair of exceptional standard was absolutely essential if Hyoutei wanted to win the Nationals.

This was where Shishido fitted in… with Ohtori.

Atobe had been aware for some time that Shishido had been meeting with Ohtori for gruelling practice sessions outside club hours.

The day after being dropped from the regulars, Shishido began showing up to school with bruises, scrapes and cuts. He looked extremely disreputable and the dangerous glint in his eye, coupled with his fall from the regulars, meant that the rest of the students stayed well out of his way. Fresh bruises were seen on Shishido every day. Several bruises were extremely large and indicated that a fair-sized object was involved, and other marks looked as if they were the direct result of having been burnt into Shishido's skin.

Atobe had the matter swiftly investigated and, once he learned the truth, made random visits to Hyotei's tennis courts at night, to see exactly how Shishido inflicted on himself his own unique form of torture. Although Atobe was not pleased by the fact that Ohtori had omitted to inform him of this, he had to own himself impressed. Clearly these two had an excellent working partnership. In fact, Atobe thought that they were perfect candidates for a doubles combination.

The foundation of any doubles pair is the ability to work well together; the magical ingredient in a successful doubles pair is the ability to _fit_ each other perfectly, like a lock that has found its only key. (That this sentimental proposition had originated from one Oshitari Yuushi, who had delivered this pronouncement as part of his ideal definition of soulmates, did not disturb Atobe in the least). Atobe was of the view that he had found not just any old doubles pair, but a _successful_ one.

The coach was duly informed. Thereafter, it was simply a matter of time – and perhaps fate. Everything depended on whether Shishido could stage his comeback in time, or if the coach would find a new doubles pair first. That Atobe eventually voiced his support for Shishido's return was a strong affirmation to the coach that Shishido was ready – and that Hyoutei could begin in earnest to train a new doubles combination. Atobe made it resoundingly clear to Shishido that he had to fall in with the team strategy, or else he would have to _in_voluntarily drop out of the regular line-up.

Shishido saw red. Although he was stung at not being able to play singles, he was even angrier with the fact that Atobe was forcing Ohtori into doubles. Everybody knew that big servers like Ohtori were best-suited for singles. The most intimidating thing about Ohtori – apart from the way he towered over most people – was his serve, which clocked well over 200 km per hour at its fastest and 160 km per hour on average. Ohtori was a classic big server in the style of Mark Philippoussis and Goran Ivanisevic – a clear singles player, if ever there was one. How could anyone in their right minds ask _Ohtori_, possessor of the fastest serve across the junior-high _and_ senior-high age groups nationwide, to play _doubles?! _It defied common sense and logic, and it was totally and completely unfair to Ohtori. Shishido didn't bother mincing his words when he railed at Atobe.

"If he's willing to give up his regular spot for someone like you, he might as well play doubles," Atobe had responded coolly.

It was a low blow. (To be fair, Ohtori was the one who had offered himself up like the proverbial sacrificial lamb, so there was no fault to speak of where Shishido was concerned. Atobe, on the other hand, was certainly not above making use of Shishido's mixed feelings of guilt and gratitude towards Ohtori, so long as it got Shishido where Atobe wanted him).

Shishido would eventually forgive Atobe once he had gotten over the way Atobe had outwitted, out-plotted and out-manoeuvred both him and Ohtori. After all, this sort of thing happened all the time in Hyoutei. Besides, he owed Atobe for putting him back on the team. But Shishido privately swore that he would not forget, and the end result was that Shishido retained, throughout his life, a curious complex that made him extremely sensitive about anything that involved Ohtori.

In Hyoutei, Shishido and Ohtori worked slavishly together on their doubles combination. Neither of them intended to waste Shishido's second chance. Shishido was also quite determined that if Ohtori had to give up a chance at a singles slot, then they were damned well going to be _the_ doubles pair to watch. In time, the Shishido-Ohtori pair became Hyoutei's best and most reliable doubles combination, eclipsing even the Oshitari-Gakuto pair, and vindicating Atobe's Insight.

It was not just a doubles combination – it was also a best-friendship. The depth and intensity of their bond somehow transcended the gulf between their respective personalities and interests, and wrought interesting changes in them. Over time, the mellower side of Shishido's nature surfaced with increasing frequency, particularly around Ohtori, and Ohtori somehow became the bridge between Shishido and those of the tennis club members who cared. Ohtori, in his turn, found his eyes becoming keener when it came to reading the hidden nature and intentions of others – something which he learnt, quite unconsciously, at Shishido's elbow. A side effect was that Ohtori also grew a fairly respectable backbone, which came in very useful at times.

When Shishido graduated from junior high, he managed a decent placing in his final-year examinations and successfully moved on to the senior high division of Hyoutei Gakuen. A year later, Ohtori joined him in the tennis club there. They would make Hyoutei tennis history by being the first ever freshman-sophomore doubles combination to be part of the regular line-up representing Hyoutei (senior high division) at the Nationals. As usual, it was Atobe's indomitable will that carried the day over the objections of their seniors.

Outside club practice, despite the fierce demands that the senior high school curriculum made on them, Hyoutei's Silver Pair (an affectionate moniker bestowed upon them by their enthusiastic Hyoutei fanclub) squeezed out whatever time they could for each other.

Shishido liked nothing better than to spend his spare time in Ohtori's company or, at the very least, somewhere within Ohtori's vicinity. His profile on the tennis club webpage listed one of his favourite activities as "hanging out with Choutarou". (The only other favourite activity listed there was, of course, tennis). It became a well-known fact that anyone who wanted something out of Ohtori invariably ended up having to go through Shishido first. While Ohtori was by no means a pushover, Shishido liked to make it his mission to weed out people who tried to take advantage of Ohtori's thoughtful, pleasant nature. Their Hyoutei fangirls happily called them "married", which always made Ohtori blush furiously, but Shishido never put his mind to what people said, and therefore couldn't care less.

It helped that Atobe insisted on maintaining his tight little inner circle and rode roughshod over all objections. Atobe, as usual, was their centre, with Kabaji at his side; there was Taki Haginosuke, who was fiercely loyal to Atobe and had made his peace with Shishido in the intervening years; Oshitari, who reigned as Hyoutei's Prince of Hearts (Atobe was the King); Gakuto, who had recently suffered a minor growth spurt and was still trying to adjust to it; Akutagawa Jirou, who was making a firm effort to stay awake more often now that he was in senior high school; Hiyoshi, who was Ohtori's closest friend after Shishido; and, of course, Shishido and Ohtori.

In his third year, Shishido was faced with the looming spectre of university entrance examinations. Hyoutei's final examinations – which served as entrance examinations into the affiliated Hyoutei University – were notorious for chewing up students and spitting them out in little pieces, one bone fragment at a time. Like many other students, Shishido had an overwhelming desire to keep in as whole a piece as possible, or at least minimise the damage. He spent more time with fellow final-year students such as Oshitari, Jirou, Taki and Gakuto as they crammed, parsed and analysed beyond an inch of their lives. Oshitari and Taki did a lot of parsing and analysing; the rest, having no ambitious leanings towards the finest universities either in Japan or abroad, contented themselves with cramming.

Atobe was not amongst them. He had been allowed to graduate a full semester earlier, and had promptly taken off for Germany, where he intended to train and subsequently break into the international pro tennis circuits within half a year. He was not the only one; with him were Kabaji (who would complete his high school education abroad), and sundry others still – Seishun Gakuen's Tezuka Kunimitsu and Rikkaidai's Yukimura Seiichi and Sanada Genichirou.

Those dark months leading up to the final examinations have left their mark in Shishido, rousing in him a feeling akin to cold horror at the mere memory. Those were long days of wretched toil over reams of practice papers and textbooks, cramped fingers struggling in vain to hold his pen, weary aches in his shoulders and back, and endless nights at cram school that ended in the wee hours of early dawn.

But there is another memory much more painful than those – a memory that Shishido has determinedly shied away from thinking about these few years. It is the memory of Ohtori's calculated disappearance from his life.

To Shishido, _friendship_ will never be able to sufficiently describe the relationship that he has with Ohtori. _Family_ comes close; but there is much more to it than that. What it really is has never been something that Shishido needed to think about.

Then, one day, Ohtori just wasn't there. Shishido doesn't know what happened. Ohtori simply stopped taking his telephone calls, remained cool to him when Shishido ran into him in school, brushed him off sharply when he tried to talk to him during club practice – and even had a very public one-sided row with him. Shishido was the only one shouting while Ohtori ignored him to infuriating extremes, so that Shishido had never felt more stupid or more frustrated in his entire life. Atobe, the only one within their little circle who might have been able to set things to rights, was not there. The rest largely kept silent, believing that it was best to let them sort it out between themselves, particularly after Hiyoshi Wakashi had been so badly rebuffed in his mediation efforts that hemaintained an insulted distance from Shishido and Ohtori for several weeks.

Shishido was not the sort of person who confided his troubles to others – save, perhaps, to Ohtori. So whatever Shishido said or thought or felt died on his lips and stayed buried like poison in his heart, because Ohtori would no longer listen.

The last time that Shishido saw Ohtori was at the latter's high school graduation ceremony at Hyoutei Gakuen. Shishido, Oshitari, Jirou and Gakuto had been there, to watch Hiyoshi and Ohtori graduate. When Ohtori left for further studies abroad, Shishido heard about it from someone else. Unlike the others, he was not at the airport to see Ohtori off. He had not been asked; he had not been told; he figured, grimly and quite correctly, that he had no reason to see or be seen.

Until today, when Ohtori Choutarou stands before Shishido Ryou, a little windblown, but none the worse for wear.

Some part of Shishido silently notes the small but distinctive changes that growing up has made to Ohtori. But Shishido isn't looking for the man in the person standing before him, only the boy who was his best friend and doubles partner during the best years of his life.

Choutarou is still ridiculously tall and handsome, just the way Shishido remembers him to be, and he still wears the same quiet, slightly diffident air about him that so effectively masks the underlying streak of tenacity in his pleasant nature. Choutarou's mouth and shoulders, however, are not relaxed; both are set in a manner that Shishido is used to seeing only when Choutarou is serious and gearing up for something. It's that expression that makes Shishido's eyes narrow slightly as his brain snaps back to the present. If he and Ohtori are thinking about the same thing – which is more likely than not, provided that they haven't lost the ability to read each other over the years – Shishido thinks that it's about time.

Shishido doesn't intend to beat about the bush – he wants to know, and enough years have passed so that he is no longer _that_ burnt from Choutarou's coolness and refusal to talk. Time has applied a salve, so even though Shishido's still a walking wounded, he's willing to mend whatever fences that he may have inadvertently broken, or whatever sensitivities he may have accidentally treaded on. Shishido knows that he isn't the most tactful of persons, and Choutarou, despite his excellent disposition, can on occasion take umbrage to certain slights, perceived or otherwise. Shishido draws strength from his personal belief that he hasn't done anything wrong, but he is determined to clear the air. Their relationship, Shishido thinks, is worth a lot more than his own self-righteous feelings.

There is another, more sombre reason why Shishido is doing this. It's the same reason why Ohtori is now in Tokyo, and also the reason that has pushed Shishido to impulsively summon Ohtori for a little tête-à-tête.

Six days ago, Mukahi Gakuto was knocked down by a mysterious black saloon in a typical hit-and-run. Since then, Gakuto has remained in a state of coma. On Atobe's orders, Gakuto has been moved into the best hospital that money can buy in Japan. Atobe takes care of his own, Shishido notes silently, and they are _all_ his own.

But that is little comfort to Gakuto's family and friends, who do not understand how a medical prognosis can consist of so many possibilities and probabilities. They fear that Gakuto will never wake, or that he will remain simply in a vegetative state even after he wakes, or that even after he regains consciousness and self-awareness, the injuries he suffered in the accident will have impacted him physically and/or mentally to the point where they will not be able to recognise him any longer.

The lesson is very clear. Life, Shishido understands, is too short for regrets, so he intends to grasp today with both hands.

"Oi – Choutarou –"

"Shishido-_san_ –"

They start speaking at the same time; they stop speaking at the same time. Ohtori looks slightly nervous; Shishido's eyes are very, very narrow. He distinctly remembers twisting Ohtori's arm to make him drop the honorific _years_ ago and telling him he had more than earned the right to drop the –_san_ and the –_sempai_, and just call him by his first name. Not that it ever worked. Shishido scowls up at Ohtori. Still so tall that it gives him a crick in the neck to look up, even after all these years.

Ohtori smiles a little, meeting Shishido's glance briefly and then glancing away quickly. More than four years apart, Shishido reflects wryly, is enough to make Ohtori regress into a semi-permanent state of half-reserve, half-shyness, even in his presence. But Shishido himself is aware that he, too, feels awkward. It is not as if they can simply fall back into the old ways right away – their friendship, after all, is rusty from many years of disuse.

Shishido's eyes light on the familiar row of shops nearby and an idea strikes him suddenly. Perhaps it will be better, Shishido muses, pursing his lips thoughtfully, if they start their conversation in a language they both understand, one that may not need words at all.

Nearly ten minutes later, Ohtori Choutarou cuts a bemused figure in a newly-purchased tennis outfit as he stands outside a sports equipment shop, a brand new tennis racquet in his hands. Beside him, similarly-clad but looking inordinately satisfied, is Shishido Ryou, balancing _his_ brand new tennis racquet carefully on the tip of his right index finger, an unopened canister of tennis balls tucked securely under his left arm.

Shishido takes a look at the bright blue sky above.

"Let's play."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**© Gold 2009**

**Disclaimer:**_Prince of Tennis _is created by Konomi Takeshi. This work is a piece of fanfiction and no part of it is attributed to Konomi-san or any other entity holding any legal right associated with and arising out of _Prince of Tennis_. It was written purely out of fanservice and it is **not** to be used for profit or any false association with Konomi-san or aforesaid entities.

**Title**: Brand New Days – Part 2

**Series**: Meant to be a side-fic to Safe Harbour but morphed into its own story. Read as a stand-alone.

**Pairing:** Shiny and silver. For the unintiated, that means Ohtori-Shishido.

**Guest stars**: Sengoku Kiyosumi, Inui Sadaharu, Kaidoh Kaoru.

**Rating:** K+ for gay pairing.

**Notes:**

1. I consulted Wikipedia, the ATP, the ITF and sports articles for tennis rules, terminology and the scoring system in professional tennis. Any errors are mine alone and wholly unintended; please forgive me for them.

2. I like Sengoku very much. His determination to bounce back against the odds is very similar to Shishido's situation in the past. I didn't use it as a plot device for this story, but in any case, I'd like to pay tribute to his never-say-die spirit.

* * *

**Part 2 – Let's Play**

The nearest street tennis courts are a good twelve minutes away, but a quick jog there serves as a warm-up and shortens the time taken to reach their destination. All the courts are occupied and there is a surprising number of onlookers. The players on one of the courts have just finished a game. One of them turns and sees Ohtori and Shishido; he raises an eyebrow.

"Nice outfits," he calls, grinning broadly.

"Shut up, Sengoku," Shishido shoots back good-naturedly.

The young man who has called out to them so familiarly now approaches, and Ohtori suddenly realises, with a startled flash of recognition, that this is a familiar face from his schooldays – this is Sengoku Kiyosumi, who used to be from Yamabuki, one of Hyoutei's tennis rivals, an awfully long time ago. Sengoku's hair, which was once an outstanding shade of flaming vermillion, is now black with subtle brown highlights, a concession to the fact that he has left his wild student days behind him.

Sengoku greets Ohtori, his smile warm and open. "Yo, Ohtori-_kun_! It's been a long time."

Ohtori returns the smile a little shyly. "Sengoku-_san_."

"I guess you're back for… well, sorry to hear about… you know." Sengoku lets his smile subside, his eyes sympathetic, and wisely refrains from mentioning Mukahi Gakuto's name. "How is he?"

Ohtori looks away. It's not something that he dares to contemplate—or even wants to think about. Mukahi-_sempai_ is in very, very bad shape— even Atobe-_sempai_'s doctors don't seem to be holding out much hope. Ohtori has not kept in close contact with Mukahi-_sempai_ these few years, but even so, the bonds of old times hold – and they hurt.

It is Shishido who answers brusquely. "We don't know. We can't tell."

It's true; they don't know. They don't really understand what the doctors are saying, only that none of it appears to be good.

Sengoku gives them a quick look and changes the subject swiftly. "Come and play… Doubles, one-set match?" he invites.

Shishido thinks for a moment. "Who's your partner?" He can't tell as Sengoku is blocking his view.

Sengoku's grin grows impossibly wide. "Oh, I'm not playing. What do you think of them?" He nods over his shoulder to the court he has just left and moves aside to let Shishido have a better look.

There are two people on that court now. One of them, Sengoku's opponent in the previous game, has turned around so that Shishido can see him clearly. He is exceptionally tall, nearly as tall as Ohtori, with clever eyes hidden behind familiar, square-framed glasses. On one wrist, he sports a slender, plaited scarlet-thread bracelet, and he wears track pants in an extremely distinctive pale, sea-green hue. The other person is a little shorter than the first, and is instantly recognizable from the green bandana and black sleeveless tank top that he is wearing, which have become his trademark gear on the international pro tennis circuits.

Shishido is unable to hide his astonishment and his voice can be heard all the way across the courts. "Inui Sadaharu – and _Kaidoh Kaoru_?!" _Now_ Shishido understands the presence of the unusually large number of spectators; Kaidoh, ranked within the top thirty players in the international pro tennis rankings and a surprise quarter-finalist in last year's U.S. Open, is here in person.

Inui, who is Kaidoh's best friend and was Kaidoh's former doubles partner back in their schooldays in Seishun Gakuen, lifts a friendly hand to wave at Ohtori and Shishido, and his glasses flash in the sunlight.

Shishido's eyes gleam. Doubles, against Inui Sadaharu and Kaidoh Kaoru, in a re-match of the last time they met. How many years has it been? Shishido's fighting blood is up, and he instinctively swings out his new racquet, pointing it directly at Inui.

Inui's glasses glint again and he raises his racquet in reply. At the same time, Kaidoh unobtrusively slides into place beside Inui.

The challenge has been accepted.

Shishido strides forward, throwing a brief remark over his shoulder: "Let's go, Choutarou!"

Behind him, Ohtori's mouth opens slightly, as if to say something. Then he shuts it with a small smile. "_Hai_, Shishido-_san_!"

Around the courts, those who are waiting their turn on the courts and those who were already playing games have abandoned their places and are drifting towards the centre court, where Inui-Kaidoh and Shishido-Ohtori are preparing for their match.

Shishido balances his racquet on the knuckles of his right hand, studying it with a frown; he prefers his regular racquet still. New ones are a distinct disadvantage in this match – particularly brand new, never-used racquets. He glances over at Ohtori, who is swinging _his_ new racquet with a faintly quizzical expression. That settles it, Shishido decides. They need to get used to the feel, especially if they want to put up a decent fight against a world No. 30.

"Hey, Choutarou, practice rallies first?"

Ohtori looks up, blinking, and nods. "Yes, please."

Shishido turns to holler across the net: "He-_ey_—!"

"New racquets?" Inui calls back solicitously.

Shishido ostentatiously flips his racquet over his wrist with practised ease and ignores the comment. He prefers not to give Inui Sadaharu any information if he can help it. "Practice rallies first, Inui-_san_, Kaidoh-_san…_?"

Kaidoh grunts agreement; Inui nods and adjusts his glasses. He says something to Kaidoh in a low voice and walks around to the quarter-court opposite. Shishido retreats to his own quarter-court; Ohtori will cross over. Sure enough, Ohtori's tall form moves quietly past him a split second later, heading for the court opposite.

Across the net from Shishido, Ohtori looks down at the small, neon-yellow ball in his hand. He looks up at Shishido for all of two seconds, long enough to see that Shishido is already poised at the baseline, both hands gripping his tennis racquet, and an expectant sparkle in those sharp, dark eyes. There is nothing relaxed about Shishido's form, not even if it is just a practice rally or two. But that has always been their motto: never underestimate the person you are playing with—or against.

Ohtori breathes deeply. Something seems to rise from deep inside him, wild and unfettered, as he looks across at that intense figure, standing just out of his reach, beyond that stretch of white netting that serves as an all-too-effective barrier between them.

_Ikkyu nyu kon_.

_One shot into the soul._

Shishido doesn't stand a chance. The ball is a pale flash at the corner of his eye as it whizzes past him to smash near the corner of the quarter-court, before neatly burying itself into the shrubs behind. There is a collective gasp from the onlookers; someone starts clapping, and a smattering of applause builds up amongst the crowd.

High up on the umpire's chair, Sengoku almost falls off his perch in excitement as he calls out exuberantly: "Fifteen-love! Good one, Ohtori-_kun_! Do your best, Shishido!"

Shishido's eyebrows twitch and he yells up at Sengoku. "It's a _practice rally_, idiot!" Then he whirls on Ohtori, pointing his racquet at him. "Choutarou, you've been playing tennis." His tone is half-accusing, but he is grinning broadly, dark eyes sparkling with pride.

Ohtori reddens self-consciously and studies the ground attentively as he digs into his pocket for another tennis ball.

_Ikkyu nyu kon_.

This one burns a hole with pin-point accuracy, smack in the corner of the quarter court and Shishido has a neat line of dirt down his left arm and leg, from where he sprawled on the grass in his unsuccessful attempt to retrieve the shot.

_Ikkyu nyu kon_.

Shishido's racquet flies out of his hands and clatters on the ground; the power behind Ohtori's serve is just too much for him. Shishido wrinkles his nose as he looks down at his hands, still shaking from the impact.

_Ikkyu nyu kon_.

Shishido's double-handed forehand works this time; his racquet connects solidly with the ball and flies back—

—right into the net.

"Love game, won by Ohtori-_san_!" announces Sengoku, bouncing up to balance dangerously at the top of his umpire's chair. "Change court! Second game, Shishido to serve! Love-all, SERVICE PLAY!"

Shishido contemplates whacking a ball at Sengoku's head to remind him that this is a _practice rally_, not a match – but that would be lousy sportsmanship, and Sengoku's head might just prove harder than the ball. Besides, there are more important things to consider…

… such as the fact that it is pretty patently clear that Ohtori is playing hard, playing for real, and playing for keeps. Sengoku may be right, after all. This is no simple 'practice rally'. Shishido's eyes narrow. If Ohtori Choutarou wants to play it that way, well then, Shishido Ryou has absolutely no objection. Besides – and here Shishido's eyes narrow so much that they are practically squints – it seems that Kaidoh Kaoru and Inui Sadaharu have just blatantly walked off the court and taken up positions as…_linesmen_.

Shishido slants his body towards the empty quarter-court opposite, the one next to Ohtori's own quarter-court. He tilts his head at Ohtori and then points towards that quarter-court with the hand that holds the ball. He is going to serve there, into that court.

Ohtori's eyes widen in startled surprise, but that is all the warning he gets.

Shishido has already thrown the ball high into the air and serves, just as Ohtori races across the court. Ohtori is fast, too fast; the ball strikes the court behind him, landing on the spot that he passed less than a quarter of a second before, before bouncing out.

"Fifteen-love…!" calls Sengoku, shaking his head. "Go, Ohtori-_kun_! Don't mind, don't mind!"

Shishido rolls his eyes. Sengoku's known him a lot longer and a lot better than Ohtori, but it just figures that Sengoku is shouting encouragement to Ohtori. People adore Ohtori easily, which Shishido doesn't find terribly surprising. – So long as Sengoku remains impartial in any line calls!

Shishido goes on to take this game, although Ohtori manages half the points in the set, so it's not a love game by any means.

The next game is a little slower in pace, as both Shishido and Ohtori relax a little and put some thought into their shots. It is Ohtori's service game, which means that Shishido has to watch out for the power behind Ohtori's aces. This time, though, Shishido forces the game to deuce, only to have Ohtori score the next two points consecutively. It's two games to one, in Ohtori's favour.

"CHANGE COURT-O!" hollers Sengoku from his perch, far above the madding crowd. He leaps down athletically from the chair.

Someone throws Shishido a bottle of water; without looking, he tosses it to Ohtori.

The bottle of water hits the ground.

Shishido turns his head, puzzled. "Oy—" he halts in mid-sentence, looking down at the bottle of water.

Ohtori has frozen where he stands, about to open another bottle of water someone else has tossed him.

Shishido maintains his stare at the bottle of water for approximately another three seconds. Then he stalks over, picks it up, uncaps it and drinks from it.

Break-time is over.

Sengoku clambers back into the umpire's seat. "Okay! Fourth game! Love-all, Shishido to serve. SERVICE PLAY!"

The atmosphere is a little tenser this time. Sengoku leans forward slightly, eyes glinting with sudden interest.

Shishido serves. The ball hurls itself across the court, a shot so fast that it burns a mark on the green and bounces out before Ohtori can reach for it.

Sengoku, too stunned to speak, stares with his jaw hanging wide open.

Shishido marches forward and glares up at Sengoku. "Fifteen-love," he snarls, and stalks angrily back to the baseline.

Shishido bounces the ball, hurls it into the air, and takes aim a second time. Ohtori moves, but he is a little too late. Shishido's serve is fast, so fast that the ball streaks like fire to the corner of the court a full quarter-second before Ohtori can reach it, and two centimetres beyond the reach of Ohtori's racquet.

"Thirty-love," croaks Sengoku meekly from his umpire's seat.

Shishido's third serve is slightly slower; it gives Ohtori time to react and return the shot, thus beginning a brief rally. The rally ends all too quickly, though, as Shishido cuts off Ohtori's game with a tricky drop shot that leaves Ohtori scrambling unsuccessfully for a return.

"… forty-love!"

A series of unforced errors by Ohtori during the rally for the game point hands the game to Shishido:

"GAME, SHISHIDO! TWO GAMES ALL!" roars Sengoku, somewhat recovered.

Ohtori's service game is next.

Shishido stalks back furiously to the baseline. Over and over again, the image of the bottle of water as it hits the ground replays in his head. Perhaps Ohtori didn't see the bottle. Or perhaps he didn't realise that Shishido was going to pass him the bottle of water. Really, it's just a simple bottle of water, costing just a couple of hundred yen. A tiny part of Shishido's mind remonstrates, saying that it's really ridiculous to get so upset over this — but Shishido ignores it.

"Ahem." Sengoku clears his throat. He stretches a little, easing cramped muscles, and then hunches back down, sharp eyes narrowed. "Fifth game, love-all," he intones. "Ohtori to serve…"

The next game is a bizarre spectacle. Sengoku resists the urge to shield his eyes from the disaster happening on the court. He is, after all, the umpire, and he needs to keep his eyes peeled if he wants to make accurate line calls.

It is as if Ohtori has gone to pieces. Ohtori's first serve ends up in the no man's land between the lines that separate the singles and doubles-court. His second serve is incredibly off the mark, landing a good two inches or more _outside_ the court's outermost white markings. The service promptly transfers to Shishido, who looks like thunder.

Shishido, eyes flashing, nearly snarls as he sends a speedy serve into Ohtori's court.

Ohtori's return is appalling; it skitters wide of Shishido at a blinding pace and finishes off by hitting the umpire's chair (giving Sengoku some severe heart palpitations) before rolling away harmlessly into the surrounding shrubbery.

"…fifteen-love…" Sengoku moans in a wobbly voice, holding on for dear life to his umpire's chair, which is still vibrating energetically in the aftermath.

Shishido's second serve is a shot that lands beautifully in the middle of Ohtori's receiving court, a perfect set-up for an easy return from Ohtori… who then flubs it fantastically.

"Out-_o_," Sengoku sighs. "Thirty-love." He winces as Shishido's next serve screeches past Ohtori, who overextends himself backwards just in time to retrieve it—and then sends a weak shot straight into the net.

"Forty-love," Sengoku mumbles, barely audible above the whispers and mutters of the restive crowd. "…_eh_, Ohtori-_kun_?! Ohtori-_kun_!!!"

Ohtori has stumbled forward a little, his posture half-stooped for some reason. His right arm hangs loosely at his side and the tennis racket slips from his grip, clattering to the ground. His left arm is across his chest; his left hand clutches tightly at his right shoulder.

Sengoku draws a sharp breath. This does _not_ look good. "TIME OUT!"

On the sidelines, Inui Sadaharu and Kaidoh Kaoru break away from their positions, running towards Ohtori.

Ohtori retreats slowly to the back of his court, still gripping his right shoulder.

In the distance, Shishido shifts slightly on his feet. Then he edges towards Ohtori, while pretending that he's really heading for another direction.

Inui and Kaidoh, who do not need to pretend anything, reach Ohtori first. Sengoku is close on their heels, and Shishido is a distant fourth.

"How are you feeling, Ohtori-_kun_?" Sengoku hollers from a distance, even before he reaches Ohtori.

Ohtori's face is pale and little beads of sweat have begun to form on his brow.

Someone—a girl—calls out uncertainly from the crowd: "Are you all right?"

Inui Sadaharu, who is bending over Ohtori, is frowning slightly. "Allow me, Ohtori-_san_." He carefully pries Ohtori's hand from the wounded shoulder, then runs careful fingers over the spot, gently applying pressure at certain points on the shoulder. Ohtori makes a little sound of pain at one point—

"What the hell are you doing?!" Shishido's voice interrupts brusquely. He smacks Inui's hand off Ohtori's shoulder and glares at Inui.

Inui arches an eyebrow. "Don't worry, Shishido-_san_. I'm not about to hurt Ohtori-_san_. I have had a _little_ practice looking at sports injuries." He indicates Ohtori's shoulder with a nod of his head. "An old injury acquired during junior high, aggravated during senior high and then aggravated once again during your second year of university abroad. However, I do believe there is nothing to worry about. There is an eighty-nine-point-two-five percentage probability that it is a simple pulled muscle, but the pain is of course magnified due to the sensitivity of the area caused by the old injury. Am I correct, Ohtori-_san_?"

Ohtori's eyes are wide. "Inui­-_san_—how did you know…?"

Inui's eyes twinkle in a friendly fashion behind his glasses. "I collect a good deal of data, you know."

Sengoku hides a burgeoning smile and Ohtori pales a little. Shishido shoots Inui a hard glance, belatedly remembering that Inui Sadaharu was Seigaku's data man back in the old days. Kaidoh Kaoru just looks on calmly, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Of course, how could they have forgotten? Inui had a pretty fearsome reputation as a schoolboy—a thirst for knowledge (and gossip) combined with powerful analytical skills made him a deadly force on the tennis courts. In those days, it was incredibly difficult to beat Inui Sadaharu at a game of tennis, unless you could adapt and improve your game mid-way, and produce shots that were not part of Inui's data book.

Sengoku, ever conscious of his responsibility as the umpire, turns around and waves madly to the waiting spectators. "It's all right! Ohtori-_kun_'s fine! But he needs a little rest, so the match will be postponed to a later date! Watch this space for further details!"

Inui adjusts his glasses. "Shishido-_san_, why don't you see that Ohtori-_san_ gets home safely? Make sure he doesn't accidentally strain that shoulder further."

Without another word, Shishido picks up Ohtori's racket and hoists it on to his shoulder. "Yeah. Let's go, Choutarou." He marches off, and the others can hear him muttering gruffly, "Should've mentioned your shoulder, idiot…" He pauses in his stride and turns his head: "Oy, you comin' or not?"

"_Hai_, Shishido-_san_."

Sengoku squeezes in a final word: "Don't forget to come back and finish up the match when you've recovered, Ohtori-_kun_!"

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**©Gold 2009**

**Disclaimer:**_ Prince of Tennis _is created by Konomi Takeshi. This work is a piece of fanfiction and no part of it is attributed to Konomi-san or any other entity holding any legal right associated with and arising out of _Prince of Tennis_. It was written purely out of fanservice and it is **not** to be used for profit or any false association with Konomi-san or aforesaid entities.

**Series**: Meant to be a side-fic to Safe Harbour but morphed into its own story. Read as a stand-alone.

**Pairing:** Shiny and silver. For the unintiated, that means Ohtori-Shishido.

**Rating:** K+ for gay pairing.

**Summary:**

Uh... once upon a time, Ohtori stopped talking to Shishido. We go forth some four years and random months later, to watch Shishido confront Ohtori.

**Author's Ramblings:**

I've been away for some time, trapped under stress from work and close to a physical melt-down. But I'm back now and feeling much better, after a short vacation. Yay!**  
**

**Notes:**

It's a very, very difficult thing to say, that you like someone. It's a tremendous obstacle when all your life, you've only been brought up to _show_ it, and not _say_ it. It is a part of the heart and soul, and tremendously private, like the final secret. So private that when they finally surrender the keys to the last door in their hearts, then, and only then, can they _say_ it.

* * *

**Part 3 - Standing on a Bridge**

Shishido and Ohtori walk in silence down the staircase, away from the street tennis courts.

"How's the shoulder?" Shishido asks, abruptly breaking the silence just as they reach the bottom of the staircase.

Ohtori ducks his head a little. "It's… all right..."

Shishido grits his teeth. "No, it's _not_ all right," he growls, very irritably. He shifts the tennis rackets from his right shoulder to his left shoulder. "Look, how d'you get that injury, anyway? Playing tennis with Atobe?"

Ohtori's shoe scuffs the sidewalk. "…uh…well…"

The words run off Shishido's tongue about two seconds before they reach his brain: "Are you _crazy_? You played with Atobe—no, wait—" Shishido chokes suddenly, as the truth dawns on him in a blinding flash —"what the _hell_, _did_ _you let him use you as some kind of ball-serving machine_?" he all but roars.

– Honestly, that is _exactly_ what Atobe would do. Granted, it's not as if Shishido himself hasn't asked Ohtori to do that for him before—but this is _Atobe_, who should know better, especially after what he did to Tezuka Kunimitsu all those years ago!

Ohtori winces.

Shishido is so outraged that he can hardly speak without shouting at the top of his voice. "_I'm going to kill him, the—_"

"Shishido-_san…_"

Shishido, who's worked himself into a fine rage, halts in the middle of a string of colourful expletives and nearly bites his tongue in half. "_What_?"

"It's really not Atobe-_sempai_'s fault, Shishido-_san_," Ohtori says as placatingly as he can, darting cautious glances at Shishido. "I haven't been practising as much as I used to, so I strained my shoulder a little." He adds honestly, "Besides, I'm responsible for myself, Shishido-_san_. I really can't blame anyone else for my decisions."

Shishido resists the urge to smack Ohtori's head, _hard_. "Well, _stop _making decisions like that!" he snaps, and the tennis rackets resting on his shoulder clash against each other in vehement agreement. "We _don't_ all have to jump just because Atobe says _frog_ and – oy, why are you smiling like that?"

Ohtori coughs lightly, looking away. "Well, it's Atobe-_sempai_…" he demurs, "…and I think we're all conditioned that way by now, Shishido-_san_."

There's more than a kernel of truth in that. There's probably an entire silo of kernels of truth in that statement. Somehow – maybe it's the way Ohtori's saying it, in that quiet, soothing way he has – it takes the edge off Shishido's fury, allowing his temper to cool. (Incidentally this saves Shishido from an early death by apoplectic rage).

"_Tch_, it's just Atobe." Shishido shoots a sharp glance at Ohtori. "So, did you see Atobe a lot when you were in Europe?"

Ohtori shakes his head. "Oh, no, Atobe-_sempai_ is a very busy person… but I did get to watch him play at Wimbledon and the French Open."

Shishido's feet screech to a halt on the sidewalk and he spins round to stare at Ohtori. "You _what_? You went to _both_? What kind of luck is that?"

"It was amazing," admits Ohtori, unable to keep himself from grinning broadly. "I mean, I've always dreamt that someday I'd be able to watch a _real_ tennis match at a Grand Slam tournament. But I never thought that I'd be watching Atobe-_sempai_ play at Wimbledon _and_ Roland Garros..." Ohtori takes a deep breath, his eyes shining with the memory. "It was just the _best_, Shishido-_san_! The _greatest_!The atmosphere, the tennis, the people, _everything_ – it was like – like –" Ohtori pauses, groping wildly for the appropriate words. "It was like _tennis_ _heaven_…"

"I can't see Atobe as a tennis angel," Shishido mutters gruffly, but there is a wistful note in his voice.

"Tennis god?" offers Ohtori.

Shishido shoots him a sidelong glance. "… okay, maybe," he concedes half-grudgingly. "That _almost_ works."

Ohtori appears to be deeply interested in the edge of the sidewalk – or possibly the unremarkable row of trees they're passing. "… maybe… maybe we can go together next year…?"

Shishido considers the idea for a moment, then shrugs carelessly. "Yeah, why not? Going to cost an arm and a leg, though," he adds wryly.

"It'll be worth it," Ohtori assures him fiercely.

"Better keep in touch, then," Shishido says casually.

Ohtori's breath hitches briefly and he glances quickly at Shishido, but the latter appears perfectly matter-of-fact – and even follows up with a query delivered in a mild, prosaic tone.

"So, when are you going back?"

"Next Wednesday," Ohtori answers quietly.

Shishido makes a vague noise. "… hm."

"I think my shoulder should be fine by then," Ohtori tells him, too-optimistic as usual. "We can still finish that match… I mean, if Kaidoh-_san_ is still in town."

The rackets over Shishido's shoulder clash noisily against each other as he adjusts his grip. "Okay." He frowns a little, as if considering something. "Hey, when was the last time you came back?"

Ohtori hesitates a little. "…January."

Shishido purses his lips. "Not so long ago, then."

Ohtori swallows nervously. "…uh, no…"

Shishido doesn't look at him. "Didn't hear from you."

Ohtori opens his mouth, shuts it, then opens it again – and shuts it again.

Just like that, neither of them says anything more.

They lapse instead into a silence that is anything but quiet, for it is a silence painfully fraught with more than four years of words unspoken between them.

"Look, this is _stupid_!" Shishido growls suddenly, abruptly stopping in his tracks. He's tired of the elephant in the room; it's been there for more than four years, and it's time something was done about it.

Shishido whips his head around sharply. "Let's get this over and done with. _You_." He glowers at Ohtori. "_Four _years. Talk – _now_."

Ohtori, his eyes wide, blinks rapidly, his mouth falling open as he tries to speak, but speech appears to be beyond him for the moment.

Shishido is having none of that. Granted, he has always had a much, _much_ longer fuse (to the point of being nearly non-existent) where Ohtori is concerned, but after more than four years of absolute radio silence, Shishido figures that the entire fuse has pretty much burned away and Ohtori had better talk, and talk _fast_.

Shishido grabs a fistful of Ohtori's shirt and hauls the latter closer. Ohtori reels back, one hand automatically reaching out to close over Shishido's wrist so as to stop Shishido – but all it takes is a single second of contact, and then Ohtori jerks his hand back, as if the slightest touch is unbearable. The action is too obvious; Shishido's eyes widen for a stunned instant, and then narrow and darken with suffused anger and something else that flashes for just an instant – something akin, perhaps, to hurt.

"What the _hell_, Choutarou!" Shishido hisses, eyes snapping like live coals. "_Four_ f****** years? How do I know what's wrong, what I did wrong, if you don't _tell_ me!" Anger, accompanied by an edge of bitterness, accentuates Shishido's tones. "What, you can't be honest with _me_?"

Ohtori's eyes give nothing away. Or perhaps it's simply that Shishido cannot read them. He cannot see the way Ohtori's eyes are huge and glimmering, the way Ohtori's breath hitches grievously, the way the blood drains from Ohtori's face and then sweeps it again in a rising flood, staining Ohtori's cheekbones with colour – Shishido is too far gone to notice anything, except the silence.

Shishido's grip on Ohtori's shirt tightens. "_Say_ something, _dammit_!" Something blurs Shishido's vision; he blinks, fiercely, and his vision clears. But his voice breaks instead, cracking with the weight of bewilderment and the devastating loss of Ohtori's friendship, ripped from him for longer than he cares to remember. "Say – _something _– " _Anything._

Then –

"… Shishido-_san_…"

Shishido's name, softly spoken.

Shishido's fingers loosen their grip, almost immediately.

And Ohtori, looking straight at Shishido, mumbles something, very softly. It's such a simple phrase, but when he says it, colour floods his cheeks, lending a soft glow to the classic lines of his face and highlighting the brilliance in his eyes. There's an unusual expression on his face, in his eyes, in the way he's looking, half-recklessly, half-helplessly, at Shishido and yet _not_ at Shishido. Shishido has seen that intense look before, fleetingly, a few times, when they were schoolboys, but never so clearly before—and never _put into words before_—

Is this what it means…?

_Is_ it…?

The world is spinning round. Shishido feels like he's falling off the edge, because he can't quite believe his eyes and his ears. "Choutarou … say _what_…?"

Ohtori draws a shaky breath. He wets his lips a little, his eyes very dark. Shishido can feel him trembling a little. It's not surprising – this has taken courage. A _lot_ of it. Possibly more than Shishido will ever know or can ever imagine… because it is not something that can be said lightly.

"Shishido-_san_…"

Ohtori's voice is still very soft and very low, but surprisingly steady.

"…I…like you…"


	4. Chapter 4

** © Gold 2009**

**Disclaimer:**_ Prince of Tennis _is created by Konomi Takeshi. This work is a piece of fanfiction and no part of it is attributed to Konomi-san or any other entity holding any legal right associated with and arising out of _Prince of Tennis_. It was written purely out of fanservice and it is **not** to be used for profit or any false association with Konomi-san or aforesaid entities.

**Title**: Brand New Days Part 4

**Series**: Meant to be a side-fic to Safe Harbour but morphed into its own story. Read as a stand-alone.

**Pairing:** Shiny and silver. For the unintiated, that means Ohtori-Shishido.

**Rating:** K+ for gay pairing.

**Notes:**

1. From time to time, it slips my mind that Shishido Ryou is actually a brilliant tennis player - or how else could he have made it to the regulars in Hyoutei? To be sure, he has tremendous will, iron discipline, stubborn grit - but that only gets you so far. You've got to have sheer talent and a good head for strategy, too, in order to be at the top of your game.

2. Atobe Keigo is a busybody. I've always viewed him as one, long before he commandeered his personal helicopter to find Echizen Ryoma in time for the Nationals final against Rikkai. But, oh, what a loveable, totally reliable busybody he is! For Atobe Keigo takes care of his own and they are _all_ his own.

* * *

**Part 4 - The Moth and The Flame**

He's never really planned what he wanted to say, or how he wanted to say it. Ohtori Choutarou only wants to re-build the bridges he destroyed all those years ago, when he was too young, too frightened and too bewildered to know what to do, or who to turn to. He wonders now, though, if those bridges are completely beyond repair—but it is hard to steer around the truth, not when Shishido-_san_ asked, with that look in his eyes and that curious little undercurrent of pain in his voice. He would never have thought that he could put that look in Shishido-_san_'s eyes.

Ohtori Choutarou's friendship with Shishido Ryou began a long time ago, when they were schoolboys in Tokyo's posh Hyoutei Gakuen.

Shishido Ryou had a reputation in Hyoutei even then. He was incredibly popular with the girls, not in the least because of his good looks and his membership in the tennis club. He was stubborn and impatient, hot-tempered and blunt, and he flatly refused to school himself to adopt the beautiful, polished manners that Hyoutei prided itself for. He was vain, to be sure – particularly about that beautiful fall of hair and the fact that he was a superb tennis player – and he had a direct way of saying things which went down rather badly with most people.

A lot of people didn't see it that way, but Shishido was kind, in a rough sort of way. Shishido had a _very_ sharp eye and he saw nothing wrong with looking out for his juniors, even though he had a funny way of doing it. Ohtori tried to thank him once for it; Shishido just stared at him as if he were crazy and then grumbled something that sounded a lot like flat-out denial. Ohtori worked out for himself quite quickly that Shishido really, _really_ didn't like anyone to know that he had a softer side to him.

Ohtori wasn't the only one who was drawn to Shishido. Despite his reputation (or perhaps because of it), Shishido remained one of the most popular members of the tennis club, at least if popularity was measured by the decibels of the cheers that erupted whenever he took to the courts. For one thing, he was without doubt a brilliant, astute tennis player, and Hyoutei was practically assured of victory whenever he was slated to play. For another, Shishido was really, _really_ good to watch on the courts.

Shishido's game was dramatic, akin to a whip that swiftly lashed his opponents across the court and left a faint trail of fire in its wake. Although Shishido never indulged in mind games the way some of the other regulars did, Ohtori always sensed something else beneath Shishido's game, as if every shot was calculated yet instinctive, showy yet ruthlessly decisive. It was fascinating to Ohtori, particularly because it was not quite reflective of Shishido's apparently straightforward nature. _This_ was the real Shishido, a complex personality filled with contradictions: someone who refused to be pretentious, but was not above a little manipulation himself. Shishido was, after all, a Hyoutei boy.

Whilst it began innocently enough, somewhere along the way, all that admiration and liking and respect began to skew itself into an attraction, and then a slight infatuation of sorts, before it finally developed into a full blown-out crush.

Ohtori is never quite sure when it happened, or how – except that it took place in the wake of Shishido's historic return to the regulars. A hapless co-conspirator in Shishido's catharsis, Ohtori watched, in part wonder, part disbelief, as Shishido transformed.

The overriding element in Shishido Ryou's nature was fire. If the old Shishido had given tantalising glimpses of the fire that was latent within his nature, well, the new Shishido who emerged phoenix-like from the ashes of defeat, _was_ fire. Shishido always looked forward, never back, his gaze fixed fiercely on goals he had set for himself, refusing to waste time wallowing in self-pity. He pursued his goals passionately and doggedly, proving that he had a will and a drive just as implacable as Atobe's. Neither the jeers behind his back nor the physical injuries from his nightly practices dissuaded him.

If before then he had been unconsciously attracted, after that, Ohtori was unconsciously toast. Unconscious – because there was no way he could have realised what was happening.

Girls tend to analyse all kinds of relationships they may have with their classmates, friends, family and whatever other ties they have with all and sundry. They can't help sharing their common interests, crushes, occasional sorrows, et cetera. And when they fall out with one another, it can be for no reason at all.

Boys, on the other hand, generally don't bother sitting down to figure out exactly what makes their friendships and relationships tick. If they "click", they are friends for life, comrades-in-arms and so on. If they don't "click", regardless of how much they have in common, they will never be comrades. It's as simple as that.

Ohtori and Shishido "clicked".

Ohtori never suspected anything more, because he and Shishido were around each other so often that the usual yearning, heartache, attraction, the desire to be around the other person all the time, the desperate need for attention from the other person – which are all the hallmarks of a crush – were already largely satisfied by the nature of their best-friendship, so that Ohtori hardly noticed them.

So they coasted along quite peacefully through most of their school years, all through junior high and senior high, blissfully unaware.

Eventually, though, that equilibrium was shattered – and the storm that had been hovering on the horizon finally broke in full fury.

Perhaps it was due to the fact that Ohtori was beginning to see a lot less of Shishido, who was cramming for the final examinations that would determine whether he could proceed into Hyoutei Daigaku. Perhaps the pains of a serious crush then found the space to make themselves forcefully felt for the first time. Or perhaps it was because Ohtori, at sixteen, finally had his emotional nature and physical body catch up with each other—and thus faced a common problem amongst teenagers: the havoc that their wayward hearts and raging hormones wreak on them during their teenage years.

Whatever it was, by the time Ohtori became aware that _friendship _and _family_ were not the right descriptions for the intensity and complexity of his feelings for Shishido, he was already well along the road of no redemption.

He found himself skulking in places where he could steal a few glimpses of Shishido safely from a distance. He knew Shishido's schedule by heart – there was very little about Shishido that he didn't know – and so he could always find the perfect staircase landing, or that particular spot on the school roof, from which he'd serendipitously catch a glimpse of Shishido. Sometimes, he'd pass Shishido by design in the hallways. Shishido's face would brighten at the sight of him, and Ohtori would smile back, shyly and brightly.

Lunch breaks were precious, for they rarely saw each other, due to Shishido's punishing study schedule. Part of Shishido's lunch break overlapped with Ohtori's, which started later. Shishido developed the habit of catching a quick nap in one of the music rooms, his cap over his face as he sprawled across several chairs in peaceful slumber; Ohtori would let his fingers run through Chopin's nocturnes on the piano, or draw out a particularly soothing piece on the violin while Shishido drooled on, oblivious to the world. When Shishido woke, he would slide unobtrusively out of the music room, giving a quick nod of thanks to Ohtori as he left.

Some nights, Ohtori paid a quiet visit to the Shishido home. He sat unobtrusively in the kitchen of the Shishido home and played selections of the best tunes he knew on his violin, so that the soothing strains of the music floated up the stairs and into Shishido's room, calming the frazzled nerves of the third-year tennis regulars who were studying up there.

It would have been easy to put all that down to their best-friendship. But it couldn't explain the other things: the fluttering of Ohtori's heart and its increased rhythm, the fact that he took a quiet joy in the fact that Shishido obviously treated him _way _differently from anyone else, that delicious thrill whenever he saw Shishido's smile or the brightness in Shishido's eyes, the way that he sometimes went to ridiculous lengths just to see Shishido or to get him things which he thought Shishido might like, how he kept thinking that Shishido wasn't just gorgeous, he was _smokin'_ _hot_ – and so on.

Ohtori tried to convince himself that it was an incredibly stupid case of puppy love that would, hopefully, ease with time. He told himself fiercely that he wasn't the only one feeling that way – lots of students tended to fall, really hard and really fast, for attractive, charismatic seniors, regardless of gender. They fell out of love frenetically, too. Easy come, easy go. But the very thought of being one of that number made Ohtori want to throw up. It was _different_, what he felt for Shishido – not such a hollow infatuation, surely, and yet if it wasn't, then _what_ was it…? A conflicted Ohtori didn't know—or didn't dare to find out.

The whole situation was bitterly confusing. Girls' magazines didn't help; although their little "Are You In Love?" tests diagnosed him with unremarkable accuracy, they presented a rather saccharine and somewhat unrealistic view of "troo luff" that was impossible for Ohtori to digest. Guys' magazines were also totally useless, albeit in a different way, since they focused with single-minded perversion on the physical charms of females in a manner that was truly appalling. In one of his rare physical displays of temper, a frustrated and disgusted Ohtori hurled the magazines in question across his bedroom, where it hit a wall, and brought down his precious autographed photograph of the famous half-Japanese pianist Fujiko Hemming with a crash.

Ohtori felt like a blind man, groping in the dark for a way out. Sometimes he wondered _when_ he had fallen in love – the _why_ was easy enough, since it was Shishido. But how had he not seen it coming? Had it been gradual? Had he been ensnared from the start, a moth inexorably drawn to the flame? He felt burdened and miserable, and it _hurt_.

There was nobody he could have approached to talk over this. It was absolutely out of the question to speak to his family, friends or teachers. Whatever he felt for Shishido was, simply put, forbidden.

On top of it all, Ohtori wanted to stop being in love; it sucked royally. He wanted to go back to being the old Ohtori, who could be best friends with Shishido Ryou without looking at him in _that_ light. It might have been a little easier on Ohtori if Shishido happened to be female—at least all those girls' magazines might have come in handy when it came to telling him how to deal with a serious crush (or so he thought, and even then there was the question of whether it would really be applicable to a female Shishido).

—But Shishido was a boy. Furthermore, he was Ohtori's best friend. _And _he was someone for whom Ohtori had the greatest respect, admiration and esteem. This was _not _something that Ohtori wanted to burden Shishido with, heaven forbid. If anything, Ohtori would have given his two front teeth if he could obtain something, _anything _in return that would take all this away so that things could go back to being normal. He couldn't understand how he had gone from being perfectly happy with what he had with Shishido to wanting much, _much_ more—so much more that he was beginning to feel frightened.

In later years, when looking back on it, Ohtori was unable to give any rational explanation for what he had done and why he had done so. He couldn't defend what he had done to himself or to Shishido; there was no reason, except to own that he had been afraid. _What_ he had been afraid of, or _why_ he had been afraid, was difficult to identify – it was simply a nameless, overwhelming desire to run as far as he could from the object of his affection. Perhaps it was an unconscious reaction that mirrored the magnitude of his feelings. The stronger and deeper his emotions ran, the more powerful his desire to flee. Did he fear the nature of his feelings, did he fear Shishido's reaction, or did he fear the response from the rest of the world…? Whatever it was, the intense conflict between Ohtori's emotions and his equally powerful yet inexplicable desire to pull away from Shishido, drove Ohtori to extremes.

Ohtori's actions befuddled the people who mattered, especially when it climaxed in an astonishing public row in view of the entire tennis club, where Shishido did a lot of very angry shouting, and Ohtori clamped his lips tightly and refused to say a word. After that, Shishido apparently got the message loud and clear; he stayed away from Ohtori.

For a very long time after that, people said that Ohtori had changed. The brightness in him dimmed, as if he had pulled black velvet shades over it. He grew quieter, retreating back into a cloak of half-solemnity, half-shyness. He was sparse with his smiles, too; they seemed to stay on his face for but a brief instant, before vanishing silently into… the mists of time. The Hyoutei fangirls called him their 'Dark Silver Prince'; the real affection that lay behind the little nickname echoed their fond hope that one day, the silver brightness that was Ohtori Choutarou might emerge once again from behind the shadows.

As the months passed, Ohtori's heart seemed to hurt even more, despite having been forcibly put on ice. It was as if he had been trapped in some sort of Shishido Zone, where despite his attempts to stay away and even go in the opposite direction, he could not resist being drawn back into orbit around Shishido. He and Shishido, of course, no longer talked. Ohtori flinched as if he had been struck physically whenever he heard the other's name mentioned—and yet he strained, painfully, to hear all he could about how Shishido was doing. There were days when he would take a circuitous path when leaving the high school; it was shady and peaceful, and Ohtori swore to himself that that was the attraction. But it was also a path that took him round forgotten corners that led past the varsity grounds, and gave him glimpses of Shishido on the university's tennis courts. There was a particular tree there, which Ohtori liked to climb. From his perch in the tree, Ohtori could have a grandstand view of Hyoutei University's tennis courts… and Shishido, hard at practice.

The days turned into weeks, the weeks flowed seamlessly into months, and it was not long before a whole year had passed, and it was time for Ohtori to graduate.

Ohtori, like many of his peers, had seriously considered the idea of pursuing his university education abroad. As a child, he had entertained thoughts of being a lawyer like his father, or a classical pianist (like an aunt of his) or perhaps a violinist. Along the way, as he grew older, a career on the professional tennis circuits began to have equal attraction—as long as it meant playing doubles with Shishido Ryou. He _had_ fleetingly thought, too, from time to time, that he would attend the same university as Shishido, whichever one the latter chose to go to.

But life had thrown him a sharp curve ball. Shishido was in Hyoutei University, playing for the varsity tennis team… and Ohtori was no longer able to face Shishido with the same equanimity as before.

Yet Ohtori hesitated. Both music and tennis defined him, despite their impracticality as career options, and he was loath to give either up. But Ohtori also knew that if he was serious about pursuing a career in music or tennis, then one of them had to be relegated to the status of a hobby. Both disciplines required single-minded dedication, endless practice and no room for distraction. Those who were past masters in tennis or music were devoted completely to the perfection of their skill in their respective fields. Something, in short, would have to give.

The choice was simple, to be honest. It was too lonely on the tennis courts, without Shishido by his side. Tennis, therefore, was out of the picture.

Ohtori's decision would take him away from his native country for four long years.

In those years, he travelled to countries in nearly every continent in the world. He helped to organise music camps for the underprivileged and the handicapped, and volunteered for relief organisations. He climbed, partway, the forbidding Mount Kilimanjaro in distant Kenya, and skied on the slopes of the Alps in Europe. He saw the lights of Broadway and the West End, and was dazzled by the incomparable Aurora Borealis in distant Iceland. He attended performances at the _Musikverein_ in Vienna and England's Covent Garden, and travelled afar to the Sydney Opera House and Carnegie Hall, sometimes as part of his music conservatory's top student orchestra, and at other times by himself. He fought the heat and unexpected rains of the English summer as he sat in Wimbledon's famed Centre Court, and in Paris, he touched the hallowed red clay of Roland Garros and marvelled.

Everywhere he went, he was reminded of home.

He passed through New York, London and Paris, the pre-eminent cities of the world, rivalled in magnitude and brilliance only by the city which he held dearest in his heart, Tokyo. He tramped through the verdant regions of southern France, and thought of the beautiful landscape of Biei, Hokkaido, at the height of summer. The Matterhorn was a cruel sight, remorseless as a misshapen blade of finest steel, and a harrowing contrast to the exquisite grace and beauty of Mount Fuji. He sailed through the vivid blue waters of the Aegean Sea, and remembered, with a catch in his throat, not-so-distant memories of sailing through the waters of the Tsugaru Strait, from the Sea of Japan (East Sea) through to the Pacific Ocean. He favoured the fiery sting of the rich South Asian or Southeast Asian curries over other pretenders; he had been born in the land of _wasabi_, after all, and he was used to eating with tears streaming from his eyes, fire exploding from his nostrils and steam coming out of his ears.

He was a stranger in foreign lands, a world-weary traveller, and a wanderer with the music of his home in his heart.

Perhaps it was this that lent a haunting, almost ethereal quality to the sounds that came from his violin and piano, enthralling the hearts and ears of his listeners. One of Ohtori's music professors had once told him: _It is said that music is an expression of your heart and soul, or a reflection of it. That's only partially correct. Music, young one, is an extension of your heart and soul. _

The day that Ohtori learnt of Mukahi Gakuto's accident, he snapped two violin strings and his bow nearly met with the same fate.

That day, from dawn 'til dusk, the music poured out from him, as never before, bled from his heart by his skilled fingers. Into his music, Ohtori put his memories, so many of them—laughter and tears; skinned knees and dark bruises; green courts and neon-yellow tennis balls; the swishing sounds of racquets at practice; the cheers of their schoolmates at matches; the joy of a good game, the thrill of a challenging opponent… Ohtori was playing with all his heart, playing for them _all_ — for Shishido-_san_, whom he loved; for Oshitari-_sempai_, who had to be more devastated than any of them; for Atobe-_sempai_, a force of nature unto himself; for steadfast Taki-_sempai_; for Kabaji, a silent and stolid presence; for warm-hearted, sleepy Jirou-_sempai_, much petted and adored by everyone; for quiet Hiyoshi, who could keep secrets better than anyone else; for Mukahi-_sempai_, ever a vivid and unforgettable presence amongst them all… and, finally, for himself, Ohtori Choutarou, so fiercely proud of having been a part of them.

Just the day before, Ohtori had flown back to Tokyo. He hadn't been given a choice, really, after a private courier created a stir by showing up outside his tutorial class with a large, official-looking envelope. It proved to contain an air ticket for a round trip to Tokyo via business class on All Nippon Airways, as well as an autocratic one-line message written on expensive, monogrammed and heavily scented paper: _Kabaji will meet you on your arrival.—Atobe Keigo._ The arrival and return dates on the air ticket were one week apart.

Ohtori knew that it would be beyond impossible to beg his tutors to let him off one week of classes and practices, especially when the finals were round the corner. He had barely started fretting about whether it would necessitate him dropping out of university, when his room-mate handed him a sealed envelope from the school administration. In it was a letter from the university's Office of Student Affairs, written on the letterhead of the university, granting especial permission for Ohtori to be excused from classes for an entire week. Ohtori was extremely relieved, although somewhat alarmed by the thought that Atobe's arm could reach _that_ far.

Ohtori didn't know the reason why Atobe had peremptorily ordered him back—he'd just obeyed, because it was Atobe. When Atobe said _frog_, the rest of them jumped immediately, as high as they could. Their reflexes had been conditioned to do that for years.

But in the hospital in Tokyo, where Gakuto-_sempai_ lay, a pathetic little form under the bedsheets, surrounded by half a dozen machines striving to keep him alive for a little while longer… Ohtori understood why.

As Atobe said: _What are you waiting for?_

So here he stands, today, on a little street in Tokyo, the spring wind an icy lash in his face, and his mind almost completely blank. Almost, because there is no wiping away the memory of Gakuto-_sempai_'s still form, reminding them all that life is all too short.

Shishido's voice breaks, quietly, into Ohtori's thoughts. "Choutarou."

Ohtori jerks. He dares a glance up.

Shishido isn't looking at him.

"Let's – let's get you home first."


End file.
